


Ice Breaker

by attackstance



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Skating, Barebacking, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24550921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackstance/pseuds/attackstance
Summary: Emerging figure skater Sicheng reaches an understanding with a hot-tempered hockey player.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Comments: 7
Kudos: 148





	Ice Breaker

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to renvly aka the founder of the XiaoWin agenda uwu. I don't know anything about ice skating or hockey.

_Bend at the knees._

_Shift your weight forward._

_Steer with your shoulders._

_Don’t look down._

_Don’t look down._

_Don’t look—_

“ **You’re offside, dumb fucker! Off! Side!** ”

A mighty voice booms through the ice arena, the loudest of many among the melee of the hockey match occupying half the ice rink. The skaters on the opposite half of the rink startle, but nearly all of them continue their leisurely skating unbothered, all except one unsteady skater clinging desperately to the wall, ankles wobbling from the power of the hockey player’s voice.

Sicheng holds his breath until his ankles cooperate, barely saving himself from another embarrassing fall. His pride takes enough of a hit each time he visits the arena and crawls onto the rink. A family of four hit the ice the same time as he did today, and their stony-faced young daughter makes it her mission to glide gracefully past him whenever he struggles. He glares at her as she makes her round, then at the rowdy hockey game across from them.

“ **Over here! Slide it over here! Are you serious right now?!** ”

The games aren’t usually a problem. Sicheng has frequented the arena since being inspired by videos of Olympic figure skaters a month ago and only once, sometimes twice a week does The Distraction appear. Sicheng sees the small blond man in question as he edges along the wall toward the rink dividers, where the man is skating a wide arc around the game while glowering at the opposing team.

“I’m taking a five. Don’t start without me!”

Sicheng doesn’t recognize him by face, but he’d know that voice anywhere after hearing it for several years now. The dance studio Sicheng teaches at is only a door down from a musical theater, where The Distraction’s voice is one of few able to bypass the meager insulation between buildings, and without a doubt the loudest. His voice is pleasant then, grating now, and Sicheng needs all the focus he can get just to stay stable on his feet.

The Distraction is hovering near the dividers when Sicheng staggers over, picking at the chipped paint on his hockey stick. Sicheng does his best to stand tall and pretend he isn’t using the dividers for support, but he’s still hunched over. “Excuse me?” He offers the man a polite smile and receives a glare made ferocious by a thick pair of eyebrows. “I don’t mean to mess up your flow, but all the noise from your game is a little disruptive. Would it be all right—?”

“Fuck off.”

The man puts on his helmet and speeds off after dismissing Sicheng, leaving Sicheng with his jaw hanging and his irritation sparking to life. That such venom could come from a voice he’s come to know as smooth and charming is jarring, it takes Sicheng a moment to gather his composure and continue skating, mood soured.

He’s put the incident out of his mind by the next day, leading his students through a series aerobic exercises to increase flexibility. It shows in the stiffness of his movements whenever he’s upset, so he makes it a regular point to put the ice arena out of his mind. He’s already disappointed his mastery of dance hadn’t immediately translated to a mastery of figure skating, his students would notice the added agitation of being snubbed by a foul-mouthed stage actor.

Sicheng is certain his imagination has it out for him when the object of his agitation appears at the top of the stairwell near the end of Sicheng’s lesson. The man looks around awkwardly before deciding to stand near the exit, terribly out-of-place. He’s even slighter without his hockey gear and the giant shirt he’s wearing makes that more obvious. It’s not surprising he managed to find Sicheng, given how many stage actors frequent the studio for lessons. He stays while Sicheng dismisses his class, avoiding the eyes of passing students until he and Sicheng are alone.

He approaches while Sicheng is taking a hearty swig of water. His arms are stiff at his sides and he opens and closes his mouth several times. He’s struggling to speak and Sicheng, still peeved from yesterday, doesn’t intend to help him out. Finally, he says, “Hey. Hi. Um, I don’t know If you remember me. From…from the other day? My name’s Dejun.”

Sicheng lowers his water bottle and stares at Dejun.

Realizing Sicheng isn’t going to introduce himself, Dejun keeps talking with an awkward nod of his head. “Right. Okay. That’s fair. I just came to say I’m sorry for how I spoke to you yesterday.” He bows briefly in apology. “It was uncalled for. Sometimes when I’m playing hockey, I can get a little…”

“Asshole-ish?” Sicheng offers.

Dejun winces. “I was gonna say intense, but yeah. It’s not an excuse or anything, I just wanted to explain. So, yeah. Sorry.”

Sicheng smiles, appreciative of the effort Dejun went through finding him and his sincerity. “Of course, no hard feelings.” It doesn’t quite settle his grievances with Dejun, however. “So this means I can count on you keeping it down at the arena, right?”

The extended silence that follows answers Sicheng’s question before Dejun says anything. “I…can…try?” Every word seems to cause him excruciating pain. “I didn’t realize I was so loud. I’m not really in my right mind when I’m on the ice, but maybe being conscious of it’ll help me? Or something.”

He doesn’t sound confident, Sicheng isn’t convinced, but he has no choice other than to take Dejun’s words as they are.

“ **Foul! Foul! He was holding me back! You didn’t see that?!** ”

The ice arena’s foundation shudders from a familiar voice, not for the first time since the routine hockey game started. Nothing different from last week, despite Sicheng’s fervent wishes.

Since there’s no hope of perfecting his skating technique with Dejun’s anger at maximum volume, Sicheng instead leans on a rink divider and watches the hockey game. His knowledge of the sport is limited, but he’s able to grasp the basics from observation alone.

What he notices is that Dejun, an overly spirited fireball around the field, is objectively _bad_ at hockey. He refuses to pass whenever the puck is in his possession, his accuracy is pitiful when he shoots for the goal, his hockey stick flies out of his grip more than once while he’s berating the opposing team. Dejun is ninety-percent aggression with only ten-percent skill, and the combination isn’t winning him any games. Truly, it must be a blessing that Dejun’s mouth hasn’t gotten him punched in the face by the other, larger players.

Another thing Sicheng quickly notices is that Dejun is remarkably agile on skates, faster than any other player. He regularly avoids certain death by weaving and ducking around others, the elegant loops he draws in the ice clashing with his vulgar barking. Sicheng isn’t too proud to admit he’s envious, already mentally scheming up a way to guilt Dejun into giving him lessons.

As if Sicheng summoned him, Dejun comes skidding toward the divider on his back after getting bodychecked by the opposing team, coming to a slow stop before his helmet bumps the dividing wall. He’s already glowering when he meets Sicheng’s eyes, the same glower he’s kept since the game started.

“This sort of thing is fun for you, huh?” Sicheng asks with his chin cradled in his palm.

The fire burns brightly behind Dejun’s eyes. “Mind your own business. I can handle myself,” he says, hostile as ever. Their conversation at the dance studio is a distant memory. Dejun quickly climbs to his feet and dashes back into the fray.

Moments later, he’s knocked on his back again, now with a bright pink bruise on his cheek when he slides toward Sicheng. “I…I don’t need anybody’s help. This is nothing,” he claims before Sicheng can say a word. Pure stubbornness fuels him when he stands again with his hockey stick as support and rejoins the game.

Sicheng counts down the seconds until Dejun returns in the same position, this time holding his injured ribs. Dejun takes a wheezing breath and stammers out, “O-Okay, okay. I’m listening.”

After getting a cold compress for Dejun’s cheek, they sit at a bench in front of the concession’s booth. Dejun gingerly ices his face, expression considerably less pissed off than earlier. Sicheng takes it as a good opportunity to negotiate.

“So, when you told me you’re not in your right mind when playing hockey, you meant you get angry? The entire time?” Sicheng asks.

Dejun’s unharmed cheeks lights up to match his bruised one and he shakes his head. “No, it’s more like, ehm. I’m already angry, but it all sort of comes out when I’m on the ice. I started playing so I’d have somewhere to…relax.”

Relaxing isn’t a term Sicheng would use to describe what he saw, but he keeps this to himself. “You’re here every week, aren’t you? You regularly get this pissed off? Something at the theater, I’m guessing.” When Dejun looks surprised Sicheng knows his job, Sicheng points to his ear. “Your singing’s easy to hear from the studio. Not nearly as lovely when you’re mad, though.”

Dejun almost smiles at the compliment, but frowns once he remembers the theater. “Ugh, my mood must make it seem like hell there. It’s not, really. It’s the reason I get up in the morning, knowing I’ll get to sing in front of a big crowd, and it’s usually really fun, until…”

“Until?” Sicheng presses.

The hand not holding the cold compress balls into a fist and quakes. Dejun turns toward the rink so he isn’t leveling Sicheng with his scowl. “Casting isn’t always the fairest thing there. Physical appearance is important to some degree, I get that, but it’s fucking humiliating to keep getting shafted for lead roles because I’m not _tall_ enough,” he says, acid dripping from his tongue the more he talks. “I know when I’m good. I can perform circles around most of those other guys. I don’t deserve getting stuck as the talking fucking bush just because the lead actress is a little taller than me!”

Dejun’s nostrils flare as he lets out aggravated huffs. His eyebrows are drawn in enough to form one bushy unibrow. Sicheng wonders if it’d be counterproductive to pat Dejun’s head. “So this is all because you’re, um,” he chooses his words carefully, “not seen as the typical male lead?”

Dejun rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand. You’ve got _legs_ ,” he says and glares at the, admittedly, long length of Sicheng’s legs. “I’d kill for a pair of those.”

Sicheng shrugs, comfortable knowing he’s vertically privileged. “Fair enough. Can’t say I empathize with you, but I at least want to help with the anger thing, if you’d let me.”

Dejun raises an eyebrow. “Why? Just so I’ll keep quiet?”

“That, and I’m hoping you’ll help me in return. With…with skating,” Sicheng says the last part quietly, paranoid of anyone listening in on their conversation. He doesn’t know if he could live it down if the stony-faced young girl from last week heard him asking for lessons.

“Skating? It’s pretty easy though, isn’t it?” Dejun asks, oblivious to Sicheng’s shame—that’s the last thing he wants to hear. “I learned when I was a kid. Shouldn’t be hard to teach.”

Sicheng brightens. “So you’ll do it?”

“Sure, if you can help me out.” Dejun nods. “I don’t want to end up getting banned from the arena because I can’t shut up. What did you have in mind for me, anyway?”

Seeing as he only concocted this plan half an hour ago, Sicheng hasn’t thought far past this point. Fortunately, he isn’t a stranger to managing an uneven mood. After a minute spent rubbing his chin and thinking, he knows what he wants. “Well, you obviously need anger management. Have you tried any methods of calming down, like counting down from ten?”

“I’ve tried, but I can’t keep my head straight enough to make it past five,” he says with a sheepish grimace.

“How about a stress ball?” Sicheng tries.

“Gives me carpel tunnel.”

“Incense?”

“Weird scents make my stomach hurt.”

“Therapy?”

“Not on my budget.”

“Writing in a journal?”

“I’ll break whatever I’m writing with.”

“Meditation?”

“That just makes me angrier.”

Sicheng senses a pattern and gives Dejun a dry look, receiving an innocent shrug in return. Clearly, normal techniques aren’t the answer. Sicheng planned for this and thanks the stars that he keeps extra supplies in his gym bag. “What about sex?”

The cold compress slips out of Dejun’s hand and hits the bench between them. “Wh-what?!”

“Sex,” Sicheng repeats patiently, raising his eyebrows. “Does it relieve stress for you?”

Dejun sputters up a storm, arms flailing so much Sicheng worries he’ll fall off the bench. “That’s—I don’t—why would—I mean, uh…is it…is it supposed to?” he finally asks. His entire face glows red. “I haven’t…not for a while, I mean, so I don’t…know?”

“Are you willing to find out?”

“Really? With you? Just like that?” Dejun looks at him, looks away, looks at him again. Sicheng makes sure to stretch out his legs to show off his appealing bodyline. He’s plenty comfortable proposing the arrangement knowing he benefits in more ways than one. A few seconds more of twiddling his fingers and calming his breathing pass before Dejun answers, “Um, yes. Yes. I am willing to try it. With you.”

Sicheng smiles at him. “Good to hear.” He nods to the corridor branching off from main lobby. “That hockey game won’t finish until closing, right?”

The locker rooms are beyond that particular corridor. Dejun catches on and his eyes widen.

Things don’t play out exactly as Sicheng expected—not that he’ll complain.

It starts the moment Dejun’s hockey gear is shoved in an empty locker, the moment Dejun knows they’re alone and shores up his bravery, then he’s shoving Sicheng into a secluded shower stall and pulling Sicheng down by the neck to attack his mouth. Sicheng has to play catch up, wrapping an arm around Dejun’s waist, drawing Dejun up against his front to relieve the strain on his neck, parting his lips for Dejun’s insistent tongue. Breathing becomes nonessential, the hungry teeth burying in his lips become familiar, and Sicheng learns what it feels like to be devoured.

Dejun is alight up from the start, the same fire he unleashes on the ice threatening to burn Sicheng up here and now. Dejun’s hands bury in Sicheng’s hair and tug impatiently at the collar of his jacket, his knee slots between Sicheng’s, his body rolls to grind his hard-on against Sicheng’s thigh. Sicheng hoists Dejun up by his thighs and earns a bestial groan for it, something he’ll remember to comment on later.

Dejun could easily finish by dry-humping Sicheng’s leg, Sicheng realizes this quickly and disapproves. He can’t get a word out with Dejun gnawing on his bottom lip when he tries to speak, but a deft palm cupping his crotch has Dejun groaning long enough for Sicheng’s mouth to wander down the heated expanse of Dejun’s neck, suckling a bruise on the apple of his throat while Dejun heedlessly humps his hand.

“You’re rushing,” Sicheng says as his hand slides into Dejun’s jeans, fingers dry when they coil tight around Dejun’s half-hard dick. He’s a lot bigger than Sicheng thought, Sicheng hides his intrigued hum in a litter of kisses behind Dejun’s ear.

“I’m fucking horny,” Dejun hisses at him and tries thrusting into Sicheng’s unyielding fist. “You said you were gonna fuck me. _Do it_.”

Said in Dejun’s impatient tone, Sicheng doesn’t think he’s heard a more creative threat. The scowl Dejun wears is more endearing than menacing and melts away when Sicheng’s thumb rubs into his cockhead. “Bossy thing. I’m trying to help, remember?”

There’s something cutting ready to fall from Dejun’s lips, but he wisely keeps quiet when Sicheng drops to his knees, fingers hooking into Dejun’s jeans to drag them down to his calves. The baggy hockey jersey hangs low, but Dejun’s heavy cock hangs even lower, filling Sicheng’s hand when Sicheng squeezes it and perking up to full hardness after a few lazy strokes. The anticipation is raw in Dejun’s eyes, Sicheng drinks it in as he leans forward to lick from Dejun’s balls up to the leaking tip of his cock.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, that’s it,” Dejun breathes, head tilting back as Sicheng’s tongue curls around every inch of his impressive length, the taste of sweat heady in Sicheng’s mouth as he suckles scorching marks along Dejun’s inner thigh. When Sicheng’s plush lips close around the reddened head, Dejun’s fingers twist tightly in his brown hair but are tactful enough not to push, a surprise given Dejun’s impatience. Sicheng’s hand wraps tight around the base of Dejun’s dick and he takes it further into his mouth until it bumps the back of his throat, then slurps lewdly as he backs off—by the harsh throb it gives, Sicheng wagers Dejun likes the sound.

Sicheng keeps an easy pace, his skilled mouth bringing Dejun close to the edge without letting him tumble over. Dejun’s tact goes out the door once he notices, now trying fruitlessly to urge Sicheng down on his cock. “Quit fucking teasing me,” he growls when Sicheng’s mouth pops off of him.

“Or else?” Sicheng goads and digs his tongue into Dejun’s dripping slit, instantly turning Dejun into gelatin. As fun as teasing him is, their time is limited and Sicheng’s ignored boner isn’t sated by any lazy palming. He stands and pats Dejun’s hip. “Turn.”

For how shy he’d been when Sicheng proposed this, Dejun makes a sight with his hands spread on the shower wall, ass jutting out and legs spread as far as the jeans tangled around his ankles allow. “You’re prepared,” he accuses, glaring over his shoulder at the packet of lube Sicheng casually takes from his jacket. “How’d you know I’d say yes?”

Sicheng tilts his head. “Why would I think you wouldn’t?”

“Urgh, you don’t have to be such a smug piece of— _ohh._ ” Dejun’s spiel becomes a string of bitten off groans once Sicheng’s slick finger finds his hole, only a brief teasing swirl around his rim before it slips inside. Sicheng is delighted to have found a way to shut Dejun up and doesn’t waste time, one finger becoming two becoming three as he opens Dejun up with coaxing strokes, his clean hand hiking up Dejun’s jersey so he can kiss down Dejun’s knobby spine.

Dejun only lasts so long before he’s making more demands. “More, more, c’mon, fuck me. _Now,_ ” he grunts and pushes back on Sicheng’s fingers to force them deeper, harder inside.

Sicheng thinks he’ll have to grow into being ordered around if this arrangement is going to work. He’d have more complaints about that if he weren’t currently sinking balls-deep into Dejun’s ass, the warmth and tightness around his dick threatening to liquefy his brain entirely. Dejun, the fiend, doesn’t give him a chance to catch his breath, a handful of seconds passing before he’s trying to fuck himself back on Sicheng’s dick.

One hand gripping Dejun’s hip, the other splayed over Dejun’s flat stomach, Sicheng rocks into him properly with one full thrust after another. Their breaths come in sync, Dejun’s growing louder and louder each time Sicheng cock slides in at just the right angle, so loud that Sicheng worries they’ll be caught by the arena employees. Even when he slaps a hand over Dejun’s mouth, his moans echo around the locker room like an alarm bell and drown out the rhythmic smack of Sicheng’s hips against Dejun’s ass.

“You…never…shut up,” Sicheng hisses and bites harshly into Dejun’s neck, earning a pitchy moan in return. Dejun doesn’t acknowledge him, already straining to hold himself steady with one arm on the wall while his other hand frantically tugs his aching cock. They’ll both finish soon at this speed and Sicheng sees no better route, pounding doubly hard into Dejun, no finesse and all desperation to shoot his load. Dejun responds beautifully, so slight yet able to take Sicheng’s punishing thrusts without bucking, babbling for more in a language of nonsense only the two of them can understand. He cums with his back bowed, spattering the shower wall with globs of jizz and screaming into Sicheng’s palm. Sicheng follows soon, pumping his load deep into Dejun’s welcoming body until he’s spent.

The next move should be to clean up quickly given all the noise Dejun made, yet neither of them move while they recover. “That, wasn’t a bad idea,” Dejun admits with a tired grin aimed over his shoulder, the first show of happiness Sicheng has actually seen from him. It triggers a dangerous reaction in Sicheng, in his stomach and his chest and in mind, all of which he skillfully ignores.

“I know,” Sicheng says with a cheeky pat on Dejun’s ass, pleased by the resulting scowl he gets. “We’ll switch it up next time. Maybe. If I’m ready for that thing you’re carrying.”

Dejun blinks at him blankly.

Sicheng blinks back. “Uh, your dick? Kind of big.”

He doesn’t see the sparkling wonderment in Dejun’s wide eyes when Dejun looks down between his legs, gazing at his softened dick with newfound appreciation “It…is?”

The ice arena is less crowded this afternoon than Sicheng is accustomed to. He has ample room to stretch his legs, weaving around slower skaters and practicing his amateur spins. The other skaters have yet to applaud his poise and talent, but with the speed at which he’s improving, it’s only a matter of time before they’re eating out of the palms of his elegant hands.

He pauses for a break near the rink dividers and watches the chaotic hockey game for a while. He doesn’t pretend he isn’t looking for one player in particular, gaze following Dejun as he speeds past a bulky player charging for the goal. He doesn’t fight for the puck anymore, doesn’t provoke the other players and doesn’t shout when he doesn’t get his way. He’s a shining example of sportsmanship on the ice, a completely different man than he was a month ago.

Somehow, he’s worse at hockey than before.

Sicheng has tried breaking it to Dejun gently whenever they spend the night together, but Dejun insists he’s improving and Sicheng just can’t break his delusional little heart. The aggression once fueled him with the drive to win, but he’s been relatively docile since their first fuck—which technically _should_ end the need for their arrangement—and let’s the opposing team take wins from him with a smile.

There’s the smallest inkling that this could be Sicheng’s fault, but he pays it no mind.

“ **Sicheng! Hey! Sicheng!** ”

The dividers tremble at the force of Dejun’s voice and Sicheng winces. Dejun is off to the side of the game, waving to Sicheng with a toothy smile. Before Sicheng can wave back, a passing hockey player knocks Dejun to the ice without so much as a glance. Sicheng winces again.

“I-I’m okay!” Dejun raises a shaky thumbs up.

The anger was easily dealt with, but Dejun’s stubbornness? A mountain no man can climb. Sicheng shakes his head and skates another brisk lap around the rink.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary: tiny man has anger issues resolved by realization that he's hung.
> 
> [@twt](https://twitter.com/reinefleche)


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